Mitch Smith

Untimely Revival

Watch in the trees and
look at the ground.
A breath of fresh air
from the trees that surround.
Faith is arising,
doubt, on the drift.
Breaking through heavy clouds,
I won’t forget this gift.
Resemblance of dreams
in these foreign insights,
which don’t seem to matter
whether wrong or right.
A place where us animals
can all come and pray,
for continued beliefs that
can shift, but not stray.
All the warmth of a city
that glows ever so bright,
forever undying,
remaining in light.

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